WARP Somewhat encumbered by scenic elements that all seem to reflect or conceal the nine women and their inner selves.

At the beginning of Between Blood & Bone, a man and a woman stand at opposite sides of an empty space. A few minutes or a lifetime later, they're curled together on the floor, wrapped in the tightest possible embrace. The dance that carries them from alienation to dependency is an excerpt from the 2003 evening-length Apokalypsis, by Diane Arvanites and Tommy Neblett, co-directors of Prometheus Dance, part of the program they presented at the Institute of Contemporary Art last weekend.

Arvanites and Neblett are carrying on the tradition of expressive modern dance, the idea that movement can be not just a physical act but a sign of deeper human experience. In their Blood & Bone duet, the choreographers approach each other, their earthbound steps stained with the folklike sorrows of a score by Greek composer Eleni Karaindrou. Once they make contact, they seem unable to break it, and they slowly meld from one shape to another. You can't tell when either switches over from being the one who supports to the one who's being supported. They don't act out passion or fear, or engage in theatrical tricks, but with their eyes, their tactile hands, their whole bodies, they convey what goes on in a partnership.

On a bigger scale but still using only Arvanites's choreographed movement, Tabula Rasa (2005) looks at the interrelations of nine women. Although they're dressed alike, one seems to be the central figure, sometimes joining with the others, sometimes huddled at the center of their running circles. They all dance variations on a few movement themes, to Arvo Pärt's variations for strings and percussion. Eventually the central woman is running circles around her huddled antagonist companions. The dance may have psychological overtones, but the evolution of the group patterns is interesting in itself.

The new work by Arvanites and Neblett, WARP, to a commissioned score by John Kusiak, seems somewhat encumbered by an ever-present array of scenic elements: four rectangular panels mounted on rolling frames, five panels above the space showing video projections, and a strip of shiny white mats stretched across the floor downstage. They all seem to reflect or conceal the nine women and their inner selves.

Four women confront the rolling screens, their backs to the audience. Four other women double them behind the screens, sometimes invisibly moving the screens, sometimes appearing in silhouette or poking out a hand or a foot. Later the screens glide through the space in choreographed diagonals of their own, as women run and roll among them. Still later, they're arranged into a luminous box, and though one woman is dancing inside it, we catch only glimpses of her through the corners. In another scene, the screens are pushed together with a woman sandwiched between them.

All this maneuvering of the screens was beautifully coordinated by the dancers, but the rest of the movement seemed low-key and not very inventive. Maybe the idea of reflection is itself a limitation. Often the women worked in face-to-face pairs, or hovered behind a partner like commanding but distrusted alter egos.

Review: Shepard Fairey + Z-Trip + Chuck D So Shepard Fairey actually made it this time. No insane, last-minute sting operations by Boston cops lurking just off the ICA’s property line. But also: no grand dramatics, either. (Like, he totally could have parachuted through a shattered skylight. In slow motion.) Fairey just showed up and did his thing.

The Boston Cyberarts Fest needs a reboot It's a quiet morning along the Rose Kennedy Greenway when I meet Mark Skwarek — a shaggy-haired New Yorker in a Spider-Man T-shirt and Puma sneakers — to check out his latest project, Occupation Forces.

Tattoo you Dr. Lakra is no more a real doctor than is Dr. Dre or Dr. Demento. The 38-year-old Mexican tattoo artist’s real name is Jerónimo López Ramírez. As for “lakra,” it means “delinquent.” Or so I thought.

Wax Museum If you don't cringe, at least a little bit and maybe a lot, when you see Sean Duffy's Burn Out Sun (2003) — a sculptural starburst of crisscrossing LPs bearing the immortal Sun Records label — then you probably aren't much of a record fan.

Cheap thrills They say Dr. Lakra got his pen name from the doctor’s bag he carried around when he first began tattooing, two decades ago. “Lakra” puns on the Spanish word “lacra,” meaning scar or blemish, but it’s also slang for “delinquent” or “scumbag.”

JOFFREY BALLET GETS ITS DUE | May 08, 2012 New York has two great ballet companies, New York City Ballet and American Ballet Theater. Any other ballet troupe that wants to put down roots there has to develop a personality that's distinct from those two.

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